


Vintage Lesbian Awakenings

by DroughtofApathy



Series: A Thousand Lifetimes [17]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Divorce, F/F, Historically Accurate Undergarments, Mild Sexual Content, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Divorce Financial Trouble, vintage lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 08:38:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DroughtofApathy/pseuds/DroughtofApathy
Summary: In the 1950s women like Rita Gladstone were good for only one thing; childrearing. And Rita would rather fling herself off a cliff than birth and raise a baby. Her husband wanted a house full of kids. The perfect suburban life with a dog, three to four babies, a picket fence, and a doting housewife. Rita wanted...well, she didn't quite know. But perhaps Bridget Kensington, a jaded secretary with no patience for men at all, could help her figure it out. Then again, the rumors that Bridget Kensington is a lesbian don't seem to be helping either of them out.





	Vintage Lesbian Awakenings

Every single day without fail, her husband threatened to divorce her. He never meant it, of course. Who else would keep his home and press his clothing? Besides, most of the time he was only jesting. Teasing her, really. He loved her to pieces. But Rita knew the days of this marriage were numbered. Ever since the doctors said she’d never be able to carry his child, they’d been strained. Secretly, Rita had been relieved. The thought of carrying another human being inside of her, of pushing a baby out of her- well, it horrified her. And that wasn’t even considering the whole raising of said baby. Rita shuddered just to think of it.

Her husband wanted a house full of kids. The perfect suburban life with a dog, three to four babies, a picket fence, and a doting housewife. And Rita, a leggy amazon of a woman with dark red curls and porcelain skin, fit his fantasy quite nicely. Her somewhat cold demeanor hampered his perfect vision, however. She was not, he realized with annoyance, a woman who could be trained.

Rita loved her husband, but he tried her patience something terrible. Had she lived in another time, she sometimes thought, she’d have been someone. As a child, she’d had unrealistically high ambitions. A CEO or a businesswoman or something other than a woman who stayed at home cooking and cleaning. Some woman could handle that sort of life, but not Rita.

But Gerald, her husband, was a good man. Fabulously wealthy too. And though Rita could swear he resented her for being unable to fulfil his dream, he never showed it outright. He went off to work each day, closing deals and doing what Rita had once dreamed of while Rita stayed home. She made sure to be up first each day to pretty herself up, and once her husband left she’d begin the life of a suburban housewife in the 1950s.

The housewives on the block, all in their fancy clothes, and perfect makeup, and coiffed hair, would have lunches together, and book club, and passive aggressively compete to be the best in the neighborhood. And, no matter how vapid she found some of the things they did, those meetings and gossip sessions were the highlights of her week. Because Rita, though cold to her husband, could charm an eskimo into buying ice.

They were headed off to one of Gerald’s work functions. He assured her there would be plenty of women to talk fashion with. She’d, of course, rolled her eyes as she’d rolled her hair, transforming soft waves to bouncy curls.

She knew how to work a room. Rita slipped her arm into Gerald’s, smiling graciously and moving with exquisite elegance. She pointedly ignored how her heels pinched at her feet, sipping at her champagne with practiced refinement no matter how much she longed to toss it back. In her red dress with little capped sleeves and v-back, she easily turned heads.

Rita wandered off after an appropriate amount of time, mingling with the other wives. It was during a spirited gossip session with several other women where Rita spotted _her_. Trailing off mid-sentence, Rita stared, lips parting ever so slightly as she took the woman in.

She looked so very out of place at the function. She did not hang off of any man’s arm, nor did she make any move to join any of the small clusters of women. The woman also looked nothing like any woman Rita had ever seen. Rather than wearing the latest hairstyle of curls and bouffant, she had simply wrapped her black hair into a bun at the base of her head, and she wore only dark red lipstick on her face, her eyes hidden by eyeglasses. And her dress. Why, the black sheath silhouette dress clung to her slim body, not quite scandalous, but certainly different. And those earrings, so very flashy.

The woman did not have a pleasant and practiced smile on her face, but instead looked visibly apathetic about the entire affair.

“I’m shocked Hubert would have the gall to allow _that woman_ to accompany him to this,” one of the women, Doris, said, turning her nose up haughtily. Another woman, Mildred, asked whatever she meant, clearly just as clueless about the anomaly as Rita. “Oh, dear, you haven’t heard? Why, that woman is…why she’s simply not normal, if you know what I mean.” At their confused looks, Doris sighed dramatically, leaning in conspiratorially.

“They say she is looking for a ‘Boston marriage.’ A sapphist. An invert.” At their still confused expressions, Doris rolled her eyes heavily. “Ladies, that woman over there is a _lesbian_.” She practically hissed that last word, looking utterly disgusted. The other women gasped, scandalized. “It’s only rumors of course. But why else would she be unwed at her age? If you ask me, women like her shouldn’t be allowed in public. It’s a disgrace.”

“Don’t be so uppity, Doris,” Rita said, feeling a strange urge to stand up for the woman in question. She pursed her lips, speaking with authority and standing well above the rest of the wealthy women. “She looks perfectly harmless. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to see for myself what she is like _without_ your gossip, thank you very much.”

Sauntering across the floor like she owned the place, Rita adapted her usual smirk, coming to a stop just in front of the mysterious woman. She offered her hand with an air of grace around her. “Rita Gladstone. Forgive me for interrupting, but I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted.”

“No, I would say not,” the woman said, taking her hand. “For I certainly would recall a woman like you. Bridget Kensington, a pleasure. Call me Bridget, please. You are Gerard’s wife, correct? Well, he is certainly a lucky man.” Because Bridget was so small, she had to tilt her head up to properly talk to Rita. Believing they’d be more comfortable seated, and knowing the food would soon be served, Rita invited Bridget to sit with her so they might chat.

Bridget looked surprised, but quickly recovered, accepting with a small smile. They made their way over to the table, and Rita glanced back at the group of women she’d just abandoned. They all looked astounded, whispering heatedly between them.

“Pay them no mind,” Rita said, slowly lowering herself into her seat. “They’ve simply nothing better to do than trade petty rumors. Now, Bridget, I can’t say I’ve seen you at one of these functions before.”

Bridget airily waved a hand, explaining that she’d been recently hired as Huburt Johnson’s personal assistant. Hence why she had to show up to this event. Though she spoke with poise and dignity, Rita could tell Bridget wasn’t as thrilled as she let on. She also appeared to be watching the activity around her out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m certainly grateful for this opportunity, of course,” Bridget said. “Especially considering my status as a woman of Asian ancestry. But I suppose I had higher hopes after graduating college.”

“I can’t help but feel rather jealous,” Rita said, signaling a waiter, and taking another glass of champagne. “I’d always wondered what I might have done had I gone to a university. Well, no matter. My husband, Gerald, keeps me in good comforts, so I shan’t complain.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Bridget said. “And may I say, you look simply stunning in this dress, my darling. Most women with your hair wouldn’t dare to pull of such a bold color, but it suits you wonderfully.” Bridget lightly brushed Rita’s hand as she spoke, trailing her gaze across the elegant fabric. Rita felt herself blush, but she didn’t pull away. She thanked her, of course.

Perhaps Doris had some merit to her senseless gossip. Though it could just as well be that Bridget was simply a naturally complimentary person. Certainly, the women Rita conversed with simpered over each other enough. But somehow, this felt different. Bridget did not appear to be fishing for a compliment of her own, or playing any angle of false flattery. She seemed to genuinely admire Rita’s dress, and, judging by the way her eyes traveled, the rest of her as well.

Unfortunately, her husband with his inimitable timing showed up, causing Bridget to stiffen slightly, withdrawing her hand.

“Gerald, I’d like you to meet Miss. Bridget Kensington,” Rita said, smiling coldly at her husband. He nodded to Bridget, taking his wife’s arm, and asking to have a word with her. Rita followed, unwilling to make a scene, but the moment they stepped out of the banquet hall and out of sight, she pulled away, glaring at Gerald for his roughness.

“I don’t want you near that woman,” Gerald said firmly. “She is a poor influence on you, and a harsh reflection on us to others. I don’t know what Hubert was thinking when he hired that carpet muncher.”

“Gerald!” Rita admonished, prickling at his words. She’d barely known Bridget for half an hour and already she felt offended on behalf of her. “Really, you mustn’t be so crass. It isn’t like you to listen to idle women’s gossip. She seems like a perfectly lovely woman. Now, this is not the time or place to talk of such things.”

She returned to the table, Gerald walking stiffly beside her. When she sat down next to Bridget again, the other woman seemed to sense Gerald’s hostility, and quickly made her excuses. Rita watched in disappointment as Bridget took a seat at Hubert Johnson’s table. No one spoke to her or even acknowledged her presence.

Throughout her meal, Rita couldn’t help but glance over at her new acquaintance, noticing how she kept her head slightly bowed, and her spine straighter than any girdle or corset could manage. And Rita, cinched in just as every other woman in the room, knew a thing or two about that. And Bridget had not been wearing one. Rita knew if only because the woman’s breathing had been unlabored, and there were no faint lines due to the boning. Women knew what to look for, even if men never noticed.

“I don’t care what you say, Gerald,” Rita said at home, as she began taking off her many layers. First the dress, then her half-slip. The garters, the stockings, the corset. Everything went onto the dresser as she efficiently shed her skins. Her bra, which did its best to give her breasts some amount of cleavage, even though she’d never be even close to as busty as the likes of Marilyn Monroe or Eliza Taylor. Much more like the smaller-breasted Audrey Hepburn, really. “But it seems to me that Miss. Kensington is simply lonely with no one to talk to or any friends. I’m sure those rumors are just women being petty. You know how we girls can be. I intend to befriend her, Gerald.”

“I can’t stop you, can I?” Gerald said, throwing up his hands in despair. “Fine, do as you please. But the second that woman makes any untoward advances, you come to me, and I’ll see she never works again.”

Rita rolled her eyes at his dramatics, but reluctantly agreed. Privately, she decided that even if Bridget was…what they all said, she would simply tell her she was not interested, and leave it there. No reason to ruin a woman’s hard-won career over a simply flirtation.

The next morning, she rang up Hubert’s office. Bridget answered, and though she spoke with a pleasant tone, Rita caught the faintest hint of surliness in her tone.

“Yes, hello,” she said, adopting a business-like tone. “This is Mrs. Gladstone. I was hoping Miss. Kensington would be available to join me for a lunch date at her earliest convenience.”

“Oh,” Bridget sounded surprised. “Well, I- of course. It would be my pleasure. I admit I hadn’t expected to hear from you again after- well, no matter. I’m free on Thursday if that would be alright with you.”

“Yes, that sounds lovely,” Rita answered, unable to keep from smiling slightly. “I was thinking that adorable little bistro over on Third Street. How’s quarter to noon sound? Excellent I look forward to it.”

Rita hung up, feeling slightly giddy. Nothing new or exciting happened to her on Crescent Court, but now she had something to look forward to. Her husband seemed to notice her change in demeanor, and though he didn’t approve of Bridget Kensington, he liked this cheerful woman. Rita would be more likely put out in this good mood.

It was perfectly normal for Rita to spend an inordinate amount of time making herself up before she went out to meet up with a friend. Of course, Rita had the self-awareness to recognize she did that to keep up her image, and her reputation among the housewives. A single hair out of place would start the whispers in a single minute.

Prettying up her face, and worrying over which dress to wear with Bridget felt different. But, shaking her head at her ridiculousness, Rita quickly zipped up her skirt, having been drawn to the red felt with the black dots. And, with a last critical glance in the mirror, Rita was out the door.

Bridgit sat at a table towards the back, staring off into space. So, caught up in her own mind, she didn’t notice Rita approach until the taller woman slid into her booth. Bridget started, laughing slightly at her own distractedness.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Rita said, smiling. “I’m glad you came. After my husband’s hostility, I was afraid he might have put you off. I must apologize for him.”

“Oh, no, I’m used to-” Bridget stopped herself, clearing her throat. “I mean, it’s alright. No harm done. I- you should know. I’m not really used to doing this. Lunch dates, I mean. After the rumors…” Bridget looked down, fiddling with her napkin. Rita laid a comforting hand on her wrist.

“Yes, well. The folks around here never do have anything better to do than talk tall and swap gossip. Now, tell me, is old Hubert Johnson as maddening to work for as he is to talk to?” Bridget laughed, looking relieved. Immediately, she launched into a retelling of Hubert’s eccentricities that had Rita in the most unbecoming hysterics.

One Thursday lunch became two, then three. Soon, Bridget and Rita were meeting every week. Rita looked forward to their lunches like nothing else. Lunches turned to shopping trips every now and then, where Bridget would sit politely just outside the dressing room, watching Rita put on her own little fashion show. Rita practically preened under Bridget’s sincere compliments.

But though Rita often extended an invitation for Bridget to join her and Gerald for dinner, Bridget always politely refused, sometimes coming up with an excuse and sometimes just declining outright. Rita didn’t give up.

“Bridget, dear,” Rita said, cradling the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she stirred a large pot of sauce. “Please, would you join me for dinner tonight? Gerald’s out on business, and I’m afraid I’ve made too much food for just me. Around six? Wonderful.” Rita hung up, quickly straightening up the house before her guest could arrive. She hoped Bridget hadn’t heard the quaver in her voice. She should have known better.

Bridget showed up fifteen minutes early, bearing a bottle of wine and looking at Rita knowingly. Rita just ushered her inside, pouring two glasses of the wine right away. They barely made it through ten minutes of small talk before Bridget set down her glass, and asked point blank what was wrong.

Rita sighed, pushing her food around with her fork. She should have known Bridget would see right through her. She always did.

“I think,” she began slowly, slumping slightly until the boning in her bra cut into her chest painfully. “I think my husband is having an affair.” Overhearing Doris and Mildred whispering about it in the grocery store was one thing, but saying it aloud brought a new wave of embarrassment over the jilted housewife.

She hastily blinked back tears, pressing a hand to her mouth. Bridget gazed at her sympathetically, clutching her hand.

“He’s been coming home later, and there are all these business things.” Once she got started, all of the little things Rita refused to acknowledge, came to the surface. Knowing she was babbling, Rita pressed her lips together, abandoning her food altogether. She stood abruptly, pacing the floors.

Almost timidly, she confided that she feared it was her own fault. But at that, Bridget harshly protested.

“He is a fool,” she said, standing up and drawing Rita over to the couch in the sitting room. “ _If_ what those shrews say is true, he’s a fool. Plain and simple. Any man who leaves you here at home while he goes off with some other woman is a complete idiot. And it is no fault of yours, Rita. None at all.”

“No, it makes sense that he would do this,” Rita said, leaning into Bridget’s touch. “We- we haven’t been…intimate in a long time. Because I haven’t been performing my wifely duties he’s been looking for his pleasure elsewhere. I don’t- I never thought that my husband would do this to me. What do I do? How do I proceed from here? Because I don’t want- I mean, I love my husband, but I just would rather not…you know.” Rita blushed hotly. This was not a subject she made a habit of casually talking about.

Reassuring Rita she harbored no judgement about what she felt or said, Bridget asked if she might perhaps wish to talk about it, and maybe they’d be able to sort it out together.

Though embarrassed to speak of such taboo things, Rita nodded. She explained, not without turning as red as her hair, that when she and Gerald slept together, she’d never particularly enjoyed it. Her husband was a…selfish lover, and didn’t seem to consider her own pleasure.

“Once we learned I could not conceive I assumed we would no longer- and when Gerald kept asking, I just though he still found me attractive even if I couldn’t bear his perfect little children. But lately he’s been less interested in having sex. I was so relieved I didn’t want to recognize that it was because he was probably getting it somewhere else.” Rita sniffed, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. She laughed humorlessly, muttering that she must have looked a sight.

“There’s no reason for you to look like a fashion model when you strongly suspect your husband of cheating on you,” Bridget said simply, but handed Rita a tissue anyway. Rita hurriedly wiped at her face, cleaning off her smeared makeup. “What do you wish to do about this?”

“I don’t know,” Rita said. “But if it’s true, I just don’t think I can stay. I won’t be a laughing stock. A docile housewife whose husband screws other women behind her back and she lets him. But right now, I don’t want to think about it. Come. I’m doing some spring cleaning, and can’t decide which dresses to give away.”

Bridget looked at her pointedly, but allowed herself to be dragged into Rita’s bedroom where she’d laid out piles of clothes. She pointed to the leftmost and largest pile, indicating she wanted to keep those. She planned to get rid of the right, and couldn’t decide about the middle. Bridget held up a patterned skirt, examining it closely. She held it against Rita’s front before tossing it onto the top of the right pile.

Rita raised a sculpted eyebrow, impressed with her efficiency. Bridget kept going through the pile, holding each item up and offering her two cents. With her careful advice, Rita managed to part with much more than she thought.

“What’s this?” Bridget asked, pointing to a lacy pale blue dress at least fifteen years out of style. Rita gasped, holding it up against herself. It was her prom dress from way back in her high school days. The war had been in full swing, and fabric scarce. But she’d come from enough money that she and most of her friends could afford a dress.

“It would never fit now,” Rita said. “I was such a gangly thing in those days. All limbs. It wasn’t until soon after that I started to fill out more. But I wonder…Bridget, be a dear and unzip this for me.” Bridget looked surprised and more than a little uneasy, but stepped up to help her out of her dress.

Looking much more excited than at the beginning of the night, Rita hurried into the closet to get changed. Bridget smiled at her antics, looking through the heap of clothing Rita intended to give away.

“Bridget, I can’t get the hooks undone,” Rita said, coming back into the bedroom, wearing just a half slip and her corselet. Bridget, though flushed, rolled her eyes, kneeling down to work on the catch.

The door banged open, startling them both. Bridget gasped, jumping back. Gerald, looking furious, stood in the doorway.

“I warned you about that woman, Rita,” he bellowed, lumbering forward. Rita fumed.

“Gerald, don’t be absurd,” she said coldly. “Bridget was simply helping me undo these infernal closures. I asked for help with my spring cleaning, and we found my old prom dress. I just wanted to see if it still fit. That’s all. You wouldn’t think twice if it were any of my other friends. Apologize to Bridget this instant.”

“I won’t have my wife cavorting with inverts like that,” he yelled. “Get dressed, Rita. And you, out of my house.” Bridget hastened towards the door, but Rita grabbed her arm, holding her back.

“She’s not the one having an affair,” Rita snarled, yanking back Gerald’s collar. “You bastard. You don’t even have the decency to hide it! I had to find out by hearing it from those gossipy hens. Does the entire neighborhood know?”

“Well, when my wife’s such a frigid bitch, no one could deny I didn’t have to do it,” Gerald said, smirking. Rita growled, preparing to slap his smug face, but Bridget pulled her back, struggling against the stronger woman. Enraged, Rita declared she’d never stay with him after this, and that she planned to file for divorce first thing tomorrow morning.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Gerald laughed. “Try and I’ll take you to court, and you won’t get a cent from me. Once the judge hears about how you wouldn’t put out for months, ever since that bitch came into your life, he’ll rule in my favor.” He smirked, just laughing as Rita screamed insults at him, ordering him from her house. He didn’t protest, grabbing a bag and stuffing some things into it before leaving, Rita’s shouts still following him.

Bridget grunted, finally relaxing as Rita fell limp in her arms. With some effort, she managed to pull Rita off the floor, and onto an ottoman.

“Fucking bastard,” Rita spat, fumbling at her corset. “Jesus- damnit get me out of this thing!” She violently pulled at it, before dissolving into tears. Bridget stroked her arm comfortingly, helping her to stand. She managed to peal the restricting device away, averting her eyes respectfully.

Rita wiped at her face, gathering her wits, as she gasped for air between her sobs. A small pair of arms pulled her back down and helped her pull a nightdress over her head. In a sort of daze, as she frantically tried to work through what she would have to do, Rita hardly noticed as Bridget carefully wiped her face clean of makeup and bodily fluids, and unpinned her hair.

In the morning, Rita woke to the smell of pancakes. She took a detour into the bathroom to sort herself out before heading to the kitchen to find Bridget, still in yesterday’s clothing, standing at her stove in her apron.

“I made breakfast,” Bridget said unnecessarily. “Um, I’m happy to stay if you need me.” Rita smiled weakly, but shook her head. She thanked Bridget profusely for last night, and apologized over and over for Gerald. But she had to call a lawyer, and start filing for divorce.

Rita knew the only reason she got through the messy business that was her divorce was because of Bridget. When it looked like Gerald would come out on top, and the entire town turned against her in the most humiliating of fashions, Bridget stayed by her side. She helped Rita through the most degrading and terrifying period of her life. Listened to her rant about her misogynistic judge, and how they had the nerve to use her infertility against her.

On the final court date, Bridget took off of work and sat right outside the courthouse door for hours, waiting for Rita to come out. Then, just after two p.m. the door swung open and Gerald strode out, looking entirely too smug. A small crowd had gathered outside, anxiously awaiting the final verdict.

“When she’s done with you,” Gerald said, not even bothering to look in Bridget’s direction. “She’ll come crawling back to me.” Bridget kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead, not giving him the satisfaction. He left, smirking triumphantly into the crowd.

Rita walked out a few moments later, her face stoic. She betrayed no emotions as she faced the gawking crowd. She glanced at Bridget, and the smaller woman saw right through her façade. Tilting her head, Bridget started walking to her car, Rita stiffly following.

“I lost,” Rita said, when they were safely driving away. “Everything. The car, the house. I used so much of my inheritance paying off the lawyer. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“What about alimony? Surely with Gerald’s wealth you were granted enough to live comfortably. Start over.”

“Alimony,” Rita scoffed, bitterly. “Sure. Alimony so meager it’s insulting. After six months, I’ll have _nothing_. God, I should have just kept my mouth shut. Now I’m just ruined. I- I have to be out of the house in three days. Gerald’s _lawyer_ is going to be present when I pack up my things to ensure I don’t take anything that doesn’t belong to me. As if I haven’t bought every single damn thing in that house, and had more use for it than that bastard ever did. To be watched like a child in a candy store.” Rita shook with rage.

Bridget swallowed her own anger, telling Rita she’d help box up her belongings and they could use her car to transport it all. She refused to hear Rita’s protests when she told her that under no uncertain terms she’d be staying in her home until she could figure something else out.

Going into what was once her home, and having every single thing she and Bridget packed into suitcases and boxes scrutinized to decide if it truly belonged to her was just as demeaning and humiliating as Rita expected. Having to justify each item, especially her lingerie, made her blood boil. The last thing she needed was some lawyer leering at her underthings, mentally undressing her with his eyes.

She had to leave behind the more expensive jewelry Gerald had bought her, and the silver, and countless other things she knew Gerald didn’t even know existed. But even so, the boxes all just barely fit into Bridget’s car.

“I have a family friend,” Bridget said carefully. “She has this little lakeside cottage out in the country that she’s not using. Now, I’ve written to her, and she says we’re welcome to it for a few days. It’s tiny, but it’s a wonderful escape. That is, if you want to get away from all this until it cools down.”

Rita sighed, thinking it over. It felt like running. Like she wasn’t strong enough to stay and bear the brunt of the town’s whispers. But on the other hand, she longed to do just that. Run and hide away until she could finally be able to walk down the street without feeling everyone’s eyes on her.

They unpacked the car into Bridget’s small apartment, only to refill it with their bags that very day. The next morning, before the sun even rose above the horizon, the two women set out for the countryside, arriving nearly seven hours later. They’d stopped at a store to gather food and water, finally stumbling through the doors to the cottage exhausted and starving.

Stronger than Bridget, Rita unpacked everything while Bridget fired up the stove, and began cooking them some lunch. Rita sank into a chair at the kitchen table, embarrassingly sweaty after hauling everything inside in the sweltering summer heat. She’d placed the water bottles in the icebox, but it was going to be hours before they chilled.

They ate sandwiches, and unpacked their things in the one bedroom. Bridget let Rita choose which bed she wanted, though there was really no difference in the two full beds. Just comforter color really. She chose the flower pattern, leaving the solid grey to her friend. After a long nap, still in their traveling clothes, Bridget woke Rita up and insisted they explore their surroundings. So, feeling quite like a teenager again, Rita disappeared into the bathroom to change into something comfortable, forgoing her red pumps in favor of sandals, and pinning a large floppy hat to her head.

“You may be able to tan in the sun,” Rita said, seeing Bridget’s amused face when she emerged. “But I burn in no time at all. Now, show me the country, darling.”

They traipsed around for hours, picking flowers, and delightedly spotting baby deer and bunnies. Rita found herself smiling more than she had in three months. Bridget darted away at one point, snagging her blouse on a branch in her haste. She emerged a moment later, presenting Rita with a large blue hydrangea.

Rita beamed, curtsying dramatically as she took the flower. It was too large to tuck in her hair, so she simply held onto it, finally putting it in a glass of water when they returned.

“I really must get myself some trousers like yours,” she commented. She’d always preferred skirts and dresses, loving how they swished around her legs, but after getting her hem tangled half a dozen times that afternoon, she easily saw the merit to pants.

“They’d look lovely with your legs,” Bridget commented, watching the pasta boil as Rita took care of the sauce. Rita sighed heavily, watching it begin to bubble.

“I suppose I’ll have to find work,” she said, worrying at the hem of the apron. “Though, for the life of me, I doubt anyone would hire this. My only skills are cooking, cleaning, and mending. Oh god, Bridget. What if the only work I can find is as a housekeeper? Oh, if I have to clean the homes of the very women I once played bridge with I’ll just die of humiliation.”

“Relax, darling,” Bridget said, placing a hand on her arm. “You won’t be a maid or housekeeper. No, you’re far too white for that.” Bridget spoke with a slight bitterness to her tone. “Perhaps as a secretary, or store clerk. Not ideal, or at all what you’re used to, but I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“You must think me absurd and horribly spoiled,” Rita said, flushing. Bridget shook her head, assuring Rita that, no, she did not consider her at all uppity. After all, she’d given Bridget a chance against all odds. Rita smiled at that.

She was still smiling as she turned in for the night, listening to Bridget puttering around the room, finally settling onto the creaky mattress.

The next day, sweltering hot as it was, Rita insisted they go swimming in the lake out back. Bridget pretended to be reluctant, but Rita saw how eager she was to jump into the refreshing water. Grinning once Bridget said yes, Rita started undoing her summer dress right then and there.

“Rita!” Bridget gasped, turning her head. Rita rolled her eyes.

“It’s alright, Gidget,” Rita said teasingly, shimmying out of her slip. “It’s not like we’ve got anything different.” Because it was just her and Bridget, Rita hadn’t been wearing any girdles or corsets or stockings and garters that day. It left her feeling half naked, but surprisingly lighter. And it certainly made getting into her bathing costume easier too.

She noticed, that though Bridget seemed to have no qualms about exposing her own body, she refused to even glance Rita’s way until she was sure Rita was decent. Bridget didn’t purposefully peak, but her eyes did happen to inadvertently flicker over. Bridget was focused on pulling up the swimming panties, and didn’t bother to cover anything up, giving Rita an eyeful.

Blushing, Rita quickly pulled on her red suit, adjusting the cups around her breasts. Her red suit still fit from last year, to her relief. She turned, eyes nearly falling out of her head at Bridget’s black bikini.

“Too much?” Bridget asked, fretting over the halter straps. “I couldn’t find my other suit. If you think it’s too indecent I can just wear a blouse over it.” Rita shook her head vigorously, pulling Bridget out of the room. She really needed to cool off.

Bridget sat on the dock, dipping her feet in as she watched Rita secure her bathing cap and slowly wade into the clear water. Rita called to her, beckoning Bridget to join her but Bridget just shook her head, kicking up a small spray of water in Rita’s direction. Rita sighed, floating around on her back. She felt so relaxed out here in the middle of nowhere.

Smirking to herself, she casually floated over to Bridget who was completely oblivious to Rita’s forming plot. Bridget lay on her stomach, dangling an arm into the water. She’d put aside her glasses which made Rita feel a tad bit better. With a yank, she tugged Bridget into the water.

“Rita!” Bridget shrieked, flailing. She came up spluttering, her hair soaking wet. Rita laughed delightedly, splashing her friend before propelling herself away. Shouting empty threats, Bridget took off after her.

They swam for hours, splashing and horsing around like children. Rita felt all her worries just melt away in those hours. They ate a picnic lunch on the dock, Rita slathering herself in another layer of sunscreen, while Bridget happily darkened rather than burn.

But, just their luck, after they packed up the picnic basket, the skies opened them up, drenching them with cold raindrops. Shrieking and giggling, they sprinted back to the cottage, and into the mud room.

“It was sunny all morning,” Rita complained, wringing out her wet hair with a pout. Bridget just shrugged, shoving aside her soaked towel.

Tracking water all inside on the hard wood floors, they grabbed dry towels, shucking off the waterlogged suits before wrapping them securely around themselves.

“My hair is going to take forever to dry,” Rita sighed, struggling to remove her rubber panties from under her towel.

“Your hair?” Bridget said, unpinning her own. Rita gaped. She’d never seen it down before. It fell in wet strands down her back to Bridget’s hips. She looked beautiful with her hair down, Rita thought, blushing hotly. Coughing, she quickly disappeared into the bedroom before Bridget could suspect anything.

The rain turned into a storm, cutting the power. But Bridget lit some candles, Rita brought out the wine, and they sat on the couch, just talking.

Maybe it was the cozy atmosphere, or the feeling of complete freedom out here, but Bridget completely forgot everything she knew about sipping her drinks politely, instead downing several glasses with little reserve. Which made Rita remember exactly why she didn’t drink. She got…mouthy.

“So,” Rita said. “Gidge. Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to, but I’m just so curious. Bridget, I brought it up a few times, and you never deny it. Why?” Bridget looked like a deer caught in headlights, inching away. Rita grasped her wrist, keeping her from escaping. “No, it’s okay. I was just wondering. You’re just- I mean…everyone thinks you’re…you know. How come?”

“There was- there was this incident,” Bridget said quietly, not meeting Rita’s eye. “Where Doris Greeley, um. She walked into the ladies’ room at the Country Club, and said she saw another woman and I in a delicate situation.”

“Oh, it was just a misunderstanding then,” Rita said, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “She just saw something and thought it was something else.”

“No,” Bridget said, barely audibly. “No, she saw that other woman and I kissing. Each other. On the lips. We hadn’t noticed her until it was too late. Um, Doris didn’t recognize the other woman, so she left me. It was safer that way. But no, there was no misunderstanding. The heart of those rumors is all true.”

Rita stared at her, unable to mask her shock. Bridget started shaking, trying to move away again. She looked devastated. Swallowing thickly, she murmured that she should probably go. But Rita caught her wrist once more, pulling her back.

“Rita, please,” Bridget said pleadingly. “Please, I’m sorry. I’d never- I’d never try anything. I swear. I promise I’ll stop doing whatever it is that you are uncomfortable with. Just please. Please don’t think poorly of me.”

“Why did you tell me?” Rita asked, tucking her legs underneath her. “You could have just lied and said Doris was wrong.” But Bridget shook her head. She could never have lied to Rita. Unable to escape, Bridget just drew her knees up to her chest, looking pensive as she waited for Rita to inevitably leave her like everyone else once they knew.

Rita though, she should have known Rita was different. Instead of jerking away in disgust, Rita just smiled faintly, murmuring that it explained a lot. Bridget blinked at her in disbelief. No one, least of all anyone who frequented Rita’s class of people, reacted like that. So used to horror and ridicule, Bridget just never expected anything different.

Rita smiled, leaning in. Before Bridget could even process it, Rita pressed their lips together. Bridget moaned before she could stop herself before coming to her senses and pulling back.

“Rita, no,” she said, pushing her back slightly. “Darling, you’re drunk. You’ve just divorced your husband. This isn’t something you want to do. Please, don’t make this more painful than it already is.” Rita tried to protest, saying she was just tipsy and knew what she was doing. But Bridget kept her at arm’s length, blinking back tears. When Rita saw them, she faltered, feeling guilt pool in her stomach.

But it wasn’t until Bridget tenderly led her to her bed, and helped her into her night clothes that she realized exactly why everything had happened like it did. Bridget liked her. As a friend, yes, but romantically too.

She woke up the next morning to find an empty and fully made bed next to her. Searching the house, Rita couldn’t find Bridget anywhere. It left her feeling anxious, and more than a little scared. But her car was still parked out front, so she had to be here somewhere. And somewhere turned out to be outside around the back.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Rita said, sitting down next to the other woman. She saw Bridget stiffen and swallow anxiously. “I’m sorry about last night. About kissing you while I was drunk. Thank you for stopping me.”

“What are friends for?” Bridget asked, speaking in a dull and mechanical tone. “I know you would have- that you’d have regretted anything you did. We can just pretend it never happened. The wine, and your recent divorce.”

“That’s not entirely what I meant,” Rita said, gathering up her courage. “I’m glad you stopped be _because_ I was drunk. Because I didn’t want to kiss you while intoxicated. I- I wanted to kiss you like this.” Before she could stop herself, Rita leaned in just like she’d done last night. Only this time, without her liquid courage, she was a nervous wreck. Embarrassingly, she closed her eyes a moment too soon and slightly missed her target.

Flushing in mortification, Rita groaned, but Bridget just laughed quietly. Shaking her head, Bridget pulled her in again, this time making sure they lined up perfectly. Rita moaned, gripping at Bridget’s waist. She felt heat pooling in her lower abdomen. Her body alight like it had never been with Gerald.

After the first kiss, Bridget pulled back, staring questioningly into Rita’s eyes. She’d wanted to make absolutely sure Rita wasn’t just reacting viscerally to recent events. She wouldn’t, she said sadly, be anyone’s experiment again. They’d both calmed down, separating as Rita talked it out.

Slowly, she said that she felt like this had been a long time coming. That she’d always felt different. Boys never interested her as a teenager. When all her friends were fawning over boys, she’d kept quiet. Not because she was cold, like so many thought, but because she’d always liked looking at other girls. She just never realized it could mean anything like this. That she could even like women. And with Gerald, she’d never wanted to have sex, and even kissing made her anxious. But she’d never imagined, in all those years they were together, that it was because she liked the fairer sex.

“But with you, it’s like a cloud’s been lifted,” Rita said, smiling bashfully. “You made me so happy whenever we saw each other. And you’ve always been beautiful, and intelligent, and so wonderful. I just look at you and I feel…I feel like everything makes sense. I like you. I like you and you’re my best friend. And I want you to be something more. But, um, only if you want that too, of course.”

And Bridget did so very much.

They didn’t go any further than a bit of kissing that day. Or the three days that followed in the cottage. Though certainly they both wanted to after the kisses left them breathless and flustered. But Bridget still felt like it was all too good to be true, and Rita didn’t know what even happened next anyway.

So, they spent three days in that cottage, locked away from the outside world. But they had to return sometime, so, they packed up the car and headed home. To the stares, and the whispers, and the looming sense of terror at being potentially bankrupt in just six months.

Looking through the various job postings Bridget had collected for her, Rita applied for a position as a department store clerk. She heard back ten days later, the entire time pacing Bridget’s apartment in a state of anxiety. She got the job and was to start Monday. Bridget spend the entire night before giving her all kinds of pep talks, but Rita was still a nervous wreck when Bridget dropped her off in front of the store.

“Hello, Mrs. Gladstone,” the manager said, smiling awkwardly. “Um, I suppose it’s Rita now.”

“Yes, Rita Davenport now,” Rita said, feeling just as uncomfortable as the manger. She was now very grateful she’d never thrown a tantrum like she’d seen some of the women on her block do.

“Well, you’ve seen how we like our sales girls to operate. Be polite to the customers, always defer to them. The store’s layout is the same as it always was, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble navigating. We’d like you to just tend to the fitting rooms over in Ladies Dresses. Since you’re familiar I thought it would be easiest. Here’s your uniform, and your name tag. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Lucille will train you from here.”

Rita nodded, feeling the cheap fabric. The last place she wanted to be was in Ladies Dresses. And sure enough, not an hour into her new job did she see someone she used to play bridge with.

Shirley Templeton and Helen Taylor both looked her up and down, smiling with saccharine sweetness. And Rita had played that game for years. She knew exactly what they thought of her in this new position.

“Why, Rita,” Shirley simpered. “I didn’t know you were working here now! We were so sorry to hear about you and Gerald. Is it true you’ve moved in with Bridget Kensington? Oh, darling you must be careful.”

“Yes, well,” Rita smiled tightly, tensing. “How may I help you?” Evidently having no qualms about ordering her around like any other shop girl and not someone who was once their friend, Shirley and Helen sent her running around the store, looking for what they wanted. She had to help them out of their dresses and into the stores’ clothes.

Having to dress and undress women who had once been her equals was far more humiliating than Rita even imagined. She knelt on the ground at the feet of these women in her cheap uniform, tending to zippers, and smoothing expensive fabrics. Still, she bit down her pride, and tempered her rising blush, determined to be good at this job. Determined not to fail at something.

Shirley and Helen left soon after, arms laden with expensive dresses. They left behind a mess of clothing they hadn’t wanted. Rita smoothed out each piece, placing them back on their hangers and into the proper places.

They weren’t the last former bridge and Country Club friends to come in that day. And each time, they started the same way Shirley had. Faking sympathy then treating her as they’d treated other shop girls in the past. Dismissive. Just there to be helpful.

That first day, she went back to Bridget’s apartment and just cried. Still in her store uniform, she curled up on the couch in tears. Bridget held her close, whispering reassuring words in her ear and rubbing soothing circles into her back.

“You don’t have to work there,” she said quietly. “I can teach you to type, and maybe we can find you a secretary job where you won’t have to see those women again.” But Rita shook her head. Leaving would be like letting them win. And she couldn’t avoid the women who she lunched and shopped with forever. She wasn’t a high society housewife anymore, and that was okay.

That first week was the hardest. But she came into work right on time each day with her uniform pressed to perfection, and her hair in a neat twist with not a strand escaping. She politely helped the women find their dresses with none of her former sass. At least, not aloud. Evidently after Shirley and Helen spotted her, other women heard the gossip and came to see for themselves how far the prideful and refined Rita Gladstone had fallen.

Doris, once one of her closest friends, was the worst. She haughtily stared at Rita, simply shoving her purse at her, and sailing into the changing room. Rita followed, carefully placing her bag on a hook and awaiting instructions.

Evidently determined to demean Rita as much as she could, Doris sent her all across the entire department store with her requests. She wanted specific things, but gave vague descriptions. When Rita came back with what she’d requested she’d send it away again, only to change her mind a few minutes later.

She had Rita dress her, and even go into the lingerie section. They’d never changed in front of each other before, but now that Doris considered Rita lesser, she had no qualms about Rita seeing her nearly naked. Rita pulled her corset stays into place, and rolled stockings up her legs, all the while feeling like garbage.

And after everything, Doris only did buy a pair of white lace gloves, leaving Rita to clean up after her.

But every day it got easier. She stopped feeling so angry and hurt over these small betrayals, and the manager even commended her on her diligent and flawless work. And it felt nice to accomplish something.

So, to celebrate, Bridget hesitantly asked if perhaps Rita would like to go out with her to a club. Highly secretive, and no one would know who she was. Rita agreed, pulling out her fancy clothes. After weeks of not wearing her corselets or girdles – instead simply making do with her bra, it took some time to squeeze herself into them once more. But she wanted to look pretty for Bridget.

Bridget parked several blocks away, and had them both wear hats and sunglasses to hide their features. The man at the door looked at Rita skeptically until Bridget quietly vouched for her. Leaving their light disguises at the coat room, Rita followed Bridget into the bar. She stared with wide eyes. Men dancing with other men. Women with women. Women wearing men’s suits, and men wearing-

“Don’t stare,” Bridget said sternly. Rita nodded, tearing her gaze away. “See that _woman_? _Her_ name is Linda here. When she leaves, his name is Daniel. We do not judge here, and we do not mention anything outside these walls. It’s a lot to take in, I know, but these are my people. Our people.”

Rita took a deep breath, reminding herself to keep an open mind. She ordered herself a gin and tonic, drinking as she glanced around, taking everyone in. Bridget introduced her to a gay couple; Kenneth and William. If, she explained, the police were to come, she was to latch herself onto William. Otherwise, there would be trouble. Rita just nodded, wide-eyed. She’d had no idea being- being a lesbian was so dangerous.

“It’s easier for us,” Bridget said. “Well, mostly you. Not so much me because of my race. But you’re easily feminine. Those women over there? They’re butch. Meaning they’re more masculine presenting. That is dangerous. But they’re good women. I’ve even been involved with a few of them.”

Rita and Bridget sat and drank for a bit as Bridget murmured little facts and tidbits to her. Rita was fascinated. Especially by the rules police had. Patrons couldn’t be dancing with someone of the same sex, and had to be wearing at least three items of clothing that were for their gender. These dress codes were of the utmost importance to keep from begin arrested. The whole place was run by shady people, and the less Rita knew about that the better.

Eventually, Rita grew brave enough to let Bridget take her onto the dance floor. And dancing with Bridget felt so much more natural and right than dancing with Gerald ever had. She practically beamed, spinning the smaller woman around with ease. Whatever else had happened, Rita knew how to dance.

“People are staring,” Rita murmured, sometime later. Bridget nodded, seeming unsurprised. She explained, sounding melancholy, that two butch women or two femme women were usually considered highly taboo. And even though Bridget was wearing trousers, they were pants made to be feminine, and the rest of her clothes and makeup and hair matched that image.

“The reason the man at the door was so suspicious was that you might have been an undercover policewoman, but they know me here. And they know I like feminine women, even if butch women are lovely too,” said Bridget. “It’s okay. No one will say anything. Let’s just dance.” So, they did. They danced long into the night until finally Rita whispered for Bridget to take her home.

A few of the nearby patrons gave them knowing winks as they hurried out the door. Neither breathed easy until safely in their car, and on the road home. They hadn’t been caught, or arrested. Somberly, Bridget told her that was always a possibility when visiting those bars. But to Rita, it was freedom if only for a little while.

They locked the door to the apartment, and nearly tripped getting to the bedroom. Kissing messily, Rita made it her mission to smear Bridget’s lipstick with her own as much as possible. They pulled away, giggling at each other.

“Let’s get washed up and out of these clothes first,” Bridget suggested. Rita nodded, whimpering. She hurried to rinse her face off, unpinning her hair. Then, she reached for the clasp on her dress before Bridget stopped her. She pulled Rita’s hands away, working the buttons herself. The pretty red dress came undone, and Bridget gently worked it off completely. Then came the silky slip, just as red as the dress with lace trim.

She’d worn a Merry Widow corselet that night, and Bridget worked to undo the buckles. Rita breathed a sigh of relief as it too came off, leaving her in just her garters, stockings, and panties. She flushed, crossing her arms over her small breasts with a coy smile. Bridget pressed a kiss to her stomach, slowly undoing the garters and pulling everything off in one fluid motion.

Rita stepped out of them, standing completely bare. She fidgeted, feeling exposed. But Bridget looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that was enough to calm her down.

Rita reached for Bridget’s clothes, but Bridget stopped her saying she didn’t have to undress her if she didn’t want to. But Rita insisted. She took of rich women’s clothes as part of her job every day. It would be nice to do it for pleasure for once.

She slowly unbuttoned Bridget’s blouse, pushing the soft fabric off her shoulders. Bridget’s bullet bra, so small and delicate, gave way to smaller breasts that stood proudly on her chest. Bridget rarely wore any shaping devices, neither girdle nor corset, and tonight had been no different.

Rita knelt, slowly sliding off Bridget’s pumps. Bridget held onto Rita’s shoulders as she stepped out of them. On a whim, Rita rose up on her knees, bringing her mouth almost to level with the shorter woman’s breasts. She placed a gentle kiss on the small swells, eliciting a soft gasp followed by a whimper.

“Rita,” Bridget breathed, tilting her head back in pleasure. Rita shivered in delight, slowly pulling Bridget’s trousers and underwear down her legs, leaving her just as naked. Then, Rita withdrew, looking up at Bridget unsure. Blushing, she murmured that she didn’t know what to do next. But Bridget just drew her upright and to the bed. Reassuring her that they could go slow, or even stop whenever Rita wanted. But Rita didn’t want to stop at all.

She’d spent years and years lying underneath Gerald as he grunted and groaned without caring a lick about her own enjoyment. And she wanted desperately to know what else was possible. And she wanted Bridget.

Bridget took it slow, maddeningly so. Kissing her way down Rita’s body, she made sure to worship it in ways Gerald never had. When she took Rita’s pink nipple into her mouth, Rita jerked in shock and pleasure, moaning loudly. Then, widening her eyes in embarrassment, Rita clapped a hand over her mouth.

“I want to hear you,” Bridget murmured. “Don’t worry, love. As long as you’re not screaming bloody murder, the neighbors won’t hear.” Rita nodded, already taking short quick breaths. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and she could barely think.

“Please,” Rita whispered, whining slightly. She didn’t even know exactly what she was pleading for. Bur Bridget did. So, moving down between her legs, Bridget ran her tongue over Rita’s womanhood, causing Rita to nearly sob as she bucked her hips up into her touch. “Please!”

Rita felt a rush of liquid. A sensation she’d never felt before during sex. She squirmed, afraid she’d ruined the bedsheets, but Bridget just groaned as she lapped at the tangy juices. Then, because she knew Rita would explode if she didn’t do something, she sucked and licked at that special little bundle of nerves.

Rita clamped her hand back over her mouth, shrieking in surprise. She threw her head back, her pleas muffled behind her palm, but Bridget got the message loud and clear. Wanting to bring her girlfriend all the pleasure in the world, Bridget set to work, taking every moan and twitch into consideration until she finally found a rhythm that made Rita shake and scream, orgasming for the first time in her life. Bridget helped her ride it out, until Rita finally collapsed, inhaling desperately.

“I never knew- I- I didn’t think it could be like that,” Rita whispered. Overwhelmed by her body’s reaction and the loving gaze on Bridget’s face, Rita burst into tears. Feeling mortified at her own reaction, she tried to explain to Bridget that she’s loved it. That she’d never felt something so wonderful, but all she could do was tremble and sob. But Bridget understood. She gathered Rita into her arms, pressing soft kisses to her wet cheeks and temples.

“Thank you,” Rita choked out, “I- please, let me.” Bridget hesitated, murmuring that Rita didn’t have to if she felt too tired or overwhelmed. But Rita wanted to. She wanted it so much. But, insecure about her own abilities, she instead allowed Bridget to guide her.

Listening to Bridget’s increasingly breathy instructions, she swirled and fluttered her tongue, becoming used to the tangy and somewhat musky flavor. Soon, she felt Bridget tense, squeezing her head between her thighs for a few moments before falling limp.

Breathing heavily, Bridget smiled pulling Rita up next to her. She murmured soft praises in Rita’s ear, curling into the taller woman’s strong arms.

“God, I love you,” Rita whispered, closing her eyes. She didn’t even notice what she’d said until she heard Bridget gasp softly. Terrified, Rita cracked one eye. But Bridget just beamed up at her, tears springing up.

“I love you, too,” Bridget said. “I’ve loved you for so long.” They both smiled, tears rolling down their cheeks. For once, not because of any pain at all, but because Rita Davenport and Bridget Kensington were so full of love for each other. Corny, and sentimental, but so very true.


End file.
